


Call My Name Into the Void

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, F/F, Gen, Illnesses, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxy cares for the dying Calliope. (Non-SBURB AU.)<br/>http://intergalactickoala.tumblr.com/post/27158696716/humanstuck-au-in-which-calliope-has<br/>Basically all you need to know. I saw, I wrote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A less than auspicious beginning

It was raining.

A light rain, a drizzle, really, nothing to write home about on the east coast. New York gets this sort of rain all the time, this half mist half dew wetness that seeps into the floorboards of the house and rusts cars from the outside in.

Shut up, Roxy, that’s your mother talking. She’s the one who succeeds at the heavy handed language, the floral language that manages to skirt around the edges of a point but never really dives into its meaty goodness. She turns up the speakers, blasting catchy synth pop into the night. A long weekend in the big city with Strider was just the ticket when you’re seventeen and bored, and Roxy had begged and wheedled the money out of her mother to make it happen. Rose was placated by the age of her travel companion- at twenty two, Dirk Strider was no longer the boy Roxy had first met six years ago. The city was made throughly their bitch, shops raided, restaurants sampled, heads turning as they walked by. Isn’t that Strider’s kid? Isn’t that Lalonde’s? Their response was always to laugh, arms linked together in an expression of irony, and if she’s honest with herself, friendship. 

Bags of fresh clothes bounce in the backseat of the convertible, and the front is filled with wrappers, empty cans of Red Bull, and those miniature liquor bottles that were “like, soooo cute ohmygod!” 

The deer comes out of nowhere, bounding into the road without a care in the world. Roxy slams on her brakes, but too late- a crunching impact later, the deer is dead. The car is alright, barely dented. It would’ve been no big deal.

When the police came, she blew a .2 on the breathalyzer. 

Underage drunk driving. Double whammy, right in the kisser, Lalonde.

Rose never yelled at her, as such, but the icy stare-offs were just as bad.

What was worse were the hundred hours of community service she left court with, three weeks later. If not for her mother’s reputation and frankly alarming sums of money, it could have been much worse. The two of them piled into the car, and Roxy sinks down into her seat, as though the leather would absorb her.

“I expected more from you.” The first words out of Rose’s mouth are of disappointment. Purple tinted lips purse, hands gripping the wheel.

“I’m sorry mom.” For once, the younger blonde is untainted with alcohol. Her hands shake.

“You’ll start at the hospital. I’ve already made all the necessary arrangements for you to be put to good use.” Roxy rolls her eyes in response. Typical.


	2. The fall of angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow gomen I completely forgot this was a thing I was doing but I'M BACK NOW.

It was raining.

The third time Calliope was checked into New York Presbyterian Hospital, the rain was pouring from the sky, God's own faucet set to turbo. Or maybe that was just her own, pouring water uselessly as she spits out another mouthful of blood. Feeling "healthy" wasn't an option anymore, but this was a new kind of sick. She stared at her own reflection in the mirror, green eyes dulled by the drugs and the bone-deep weariness in her, skin shining with the sweat of the fevered.

And she proceeded to collapse onto the floor.

When she came to, the car was already pulling into the ER's parking lot. She felt jointless and far too heavy to move. Her brother hadn't come along, this time. That means it's either early enough in the evening that it's not a problem, or early enough in the morning that he's asleep. The grey-pink tint of the sky doesn't help her sense of time and she muses on the potential hour as burly orderlies pick her up, all eighty-nine and a half pounds of her, and put her on a gurney. Dad was no where to be found, probably arguing with some tired intern about platelet counts, or treatment. He does that every time, even during simple blood tests. He argues and yells and makes sure everyone in the area knows exactly who he is and exactly what is wrong with his daughter. It's not like he's not an imposing presence; he's a tall, broad-shouldered man, heavy in the peculiar way some men get, where it seems they are made of lead and fueled by discontent. 

Needles don't hurt anymore. They have the IV placed before Calliope finishes processing where she is, and a bag is being hung beside her. Fluids, right. Fluids are a thing, they never stopped being a thing.  
"Hello there!" She says to a passing professional, trying to maintain an appearance of calm and cheerfulness for the staff. She tries to smile but her lips feel cracked and dry, and the professional does the smiling for her, pushing a syringe into her tubing before she passes out.


End file.
